With Friends Like His
by M.S.Franklin
Summary: Merlin is skinny, clumsy and, quite honestly, the perfect target. Why everyone seems to be convinced he's not one to mess with is beyond the new maid Benerice. Outsider POV, oneshot.


Berenice stood in the overly busy, supposedly organized kitchen of Camelot's greatest castle. It was a noisy place: The sounds of people talking, cutting up various kinds of food, adding things to casseroles, boiling water and footsteps permeated the air. She herself had a knife in her hand, a pile of fresh tomatoes on the chopping board in front of her, and a sour cook eyeing her suspiciously from behind. Berenice rolled her eyes – seriously, she had just started working there, cut her some slack! But no, it seemed «new person» was the equivalent of «free scoldings» around here. Luckily, the cook was going to have a hard time faulting this servant for something, Berenice thought as she expertly cut up the tomatoes with a small smirk.

Until recently, Berenice had been working in the kitchens of a restaurant in the inner parts of the city. However, after almost half the staff had been fired with herself among them, she'd found herself looking for a new job, preferably one that needed the same skills she'd already been trained in. Thus she found herself joining the ranks of servants at the castle, though she'd probably have tried to find some other place if it wasn't for the fact that her best friend Catheryn already worked there.

As Berenice finished yet another tomato, said best friend showed up at her side.

«How's it going?» Catheryn asked, a weaved straw basket full of freshly laundered clothes held in a firm grip at her side. Berenice might have thought she'd taken a detour just to check up on her if it wasn't for the fact that people actually hung up dirty clothes in the kitchen around here. They'd never done that in the restaurant she used to work in, though that might be because they didn't wash clothes over there at all. She figured they did it here either because they thought it made the clothing smell nice, or because it dried quicker, or just because they were all a bit mad. Maybe a combination of the three.

«It's… going,» Benerice allowed, barely avoiding getting hit by a flying piece of potato peelings. The cook that had been watching her like a hawk set after the culprit, finally giving Benerice room to breathe.

Catheryn gave her a sympathetic look. «It'll get better. I know _I_ thought I'd never be able to navigate through the castle even if I stayed here my whole life when I first started here, and now I know the halls – or at least, the halls I use – as well as our neighborhood back home. And you'll get used to Martha,» she added, nodding in the direction of the cook that was yelling at the potato-piece thrower.

«I'm sure I will,» Benerice said, and she meant it. She was nothing if not self-confident, and Catheryn had been about sixteen when she started here – now, with both of them a few years older, it would only get easier. «I'm not worried about that. However, I think we should start working soon. I've already been here for a couple of days, and I don't want to wait too long.»

By that, she meant taking people aside, sometimes shoving them up against a wall, and inform them in no uncertain words that she was not one to mess with. This was a process she and Catheryn had gone through back in their neighborhood too, and Benerice was not about to let herself be stepped on here either. Some people would call the pair of them bullies, but really, the worst she'd ever done was hit someone in the face when they refused to treat her with the proper amount of respect. It was being firm, nothing more.

Catheryn nodded thoughtfully. Shifting her grip on the laundry basket a little, she said, «I think that should work out pretty easily. I know which ones are easy prey, and really, once you've started it, word spreads fast.» Benerice smiled in response as she picked up the chopping board she'd been using and used her knife to shove all the now nicely sliced up tomatoes into a bowl beside her. The new angle briefly caused the light to pronounce the small puddles of tomato juice and seeds on the now less-than-clean chopping board. Then she put it down again, and had just turned to go retrieve more tomatoes when a dark haired boy about her age came stumbling in the door. Literally stumbling, as his foot had got caught in the doorframe on the way in, and as he turned to see what had tripped him up, he failed to see the girl with a tray full of roasted chicken attempting to pass. She shrieked as he backed into her, and as his foot caught on hers and he still hadn't managed to properly regain his balance, he came crashing down at her feet, nearly bringing the tray with him.

Benerice, along with most of the others in the kitchen, stopped to stare for a moment. Then, forgetting the tomatoes for a moment, she turned back to smile somewhat smugly at her friend. Behind her, the boy quickly apologized to the girl before continuing on his way, narrowly avoiding Martha the Grumpy Cook. «I think I just found target one,» she said brightly. Catheryn, however, shook her head, eyes still on the retreating back of the dark haired klutz.

«No, that's Merlin. He may look like an easy target, and he may be the kind of person who'd never even hurt a fly, but believe me, it's not worth it. He's the Prince's manservant, and he's got like, half a dozen knights watching over him like guard dogs. This is one guy you want to stay on the good side of.»

Benerice stared incredulously at her. «Seriously?»

Catheryn nodded, finally giving up on watching the boy, and turned to look her straight in the eye. «Completely.»

A few days later, Benerice was headed down a corridor in a quick march when she spotted the clumsy boy from earlier – Merlin, she recalled – walking into the armory on the other end of the hall with an assortment of weapons placed precariously in his arms. Thinking in the back of her head that judging from what she'd seen of him, whoever gave him those was practically asking for trouble, she quickened her already rather fast pace a little.

She hadn't forgotten Catheryn's warning. In fact, she'd thought quite a lot about it, and reached the conclusion that Catheryn had probably either perceived things wrong, or was just a little nervous because Merlin was the Prince's (that now practically functioned as King, what with how unresponsive Uther had been as of late) servant. Honestly, just because you were somebody important's servant, that didn't mean they automatically assigned a bunch of knights to take care of you. Benerice would be surprised if Prince Arthur and Merlin had ever even had a proper conversation, so she found it doubtful that the Prince would particularly care if his servant received a pointed warning or two.

Her footsteps barely echoed as she attempted to thread as lightly as possible on the cold stone floor. Apart from the generous amount of windows placed along one of the walls, there were only a few doors and a simple vase decorating this particular hallway. Quietly reaching the door to the armory, she stopped for a moment to listen. The sound of steel touching steel reached her, but it didn't seem to be anyone other than Merlin in there. Benerice smiled. It was perfect.

She straightened, and set her face in stone in preparation of the role she was about to take on. Brushing down a few folds in her dress, she turned to the vase conveniently placed on the closest windowsill, and attempted to see her reflection in the shiny, smooth surface. Apart from making her look brown, it was pretty accurate, and Benerice had to suppress a smile as she deemed herself ready.

Finally, she opened the heavily complaining door – someone really needed to fix that – and walked in with firm, calculated, and a touch more heavy than normal steps. She'd intended to walk straight up to Merlin as soon as she entered, but upon actually entering one of the castle's armories for the first time, she almost paused at the sight. This particular one was rather dark – a lonely candelabra was entrusted with the task of keeping the entire room sufficiently lit, only helped by the fading light coming from the rapidly closing door. Ranks of swords lined the walls, spears and lances were stacked in corners, and cupboards and shelves were placed seemingly at random around the room, many with crossbows or knives proudly displayed on them. A table was placed near the door with a tenuous looking chair right next to it, not serving any specific purpose at the moment. A small pile of weapons lay dumped in the middle of the floor, presumably the ones Merlin had entered with that hadn't been returned to their rightful places yet.

Merlin, who was standing in one of the corners, looked up from his task of placing a spear and smiled at her before returning to work. Benerice, who had managed to turn her earlier almost-pause into a slight stumble, now deliberately stopped between him and the weapon pile, set her jaw, and added a slight scowl to her features. Merlin took a moment to ensure the spear he'd placed wouldn't fall, before turning to fetch another weapon. Upon seeing her blocking his way with a stance that clearly said it was deliberate, he paused for a moment. Then he simply resumed walking, easily slipping past her rigid figure and bending to pick up another weapon.

«Did you need something?» he asked brightly. Benerice spun around and stared at him for a moment, her annoyance at how he either ignored or didn't notice her attitude building. Finally, she decided to make it _very_ clear what she was here for, so he would be unable to miss the atmosphere she was creating.

Just as Merlin stood up, a sword held loosely in his hand, she grabbed him by the arm and yanked him in front of the nearest wall. This got his attention, and as his eyes flickered from where she'd just grabbed him to looking her sharply in the eyes, she shoved him harshly in the chest, sending him tumbling into the wall.

His head hit a currently weaponless shelf, the sword in his hand clattering uselessly to the floor. Benerice stepped up closer to him, her stance making it clear that if he tried to move from where she'd pushed him, he'd regret it. Looking into his eyes, she was momentarily surprised: There was a hint of confusion there, which was to be expected, but more than that, she saw the look of someone prepared to take action if deemed necessary, and something else she couldn't quite define – it reminded her a little of determination, but there was more to it than that. In addition to that, the fear she'd been expecting was lacking; not even the slightest flicker of it was to be seen, though perhaps it was simply buried under the mountains of that emotion she couldn't place.

For a moment, she hesitated. Maybe Catheryn had been right after all, maybe Merlin really wasn't a good target. She was normally a pretty good judge on things like this. Perhaps, if she backed off now, Merlin would let the matter go. Right now, with that expression on his face, she thought that might be a good idea. No need to do anything risky…

Then she shook herself. Catheryn had warned her about the knights, not Merlin himself. In fact, she'd pretty much said Merlin himself was anything _but_ dangerous. And besides, giving up when she'd already come this far would indicate weakness. Ignoring her misgivings, she pushed on.

«Merlin, isn't it?» she said harshly, not really doubting the answer. Merlin nodded carefully, still with that unidentifiable emotion in his eyes. «Well, _Mer_lin, I have come here to make it perfectly clear to you that while I may be a servant, I am not here to serve _you_. If you _ever_ attempt to treat me in a less than respectful manner, you will come to regret it, and if you know what's best for you, you will listen carefully to what I have to say at all times. You will do what I tell you to if I demand something of you, and you will – _you will listen to me, do you hear_?» Slamming him back into the wall with enough force that he had to close his eyes for a moment – she could only imagine the pain that was probably thrumming through his skull from hitting the shelf again – Benerice took a step forward and grasped his shirt to hold him in place. Her outburst had come from when Merlin had realized what she was talking about, and instead of stiffening in the face of her warning, it was almost like he… relaxed. Like what she was doing wasn't nearly as serious as what he'd been expecting.

In that moment – the worst _possible_ moment– the door opened, and Benerice turned to see who it was that had just interrupted them. Her stomach dropped.

Standing in the light from the hallway was two knights. One had long, brown hair that looked very well cared for, while the other had close-cropped hair and was one of the largest, most muscled men she had ever seen. Upon seeing them, the knights froze, taking in Merlin's pained gaze, the hand she'd fisted into his sweater and the venomous look on her face she was quickly attempting to wipe off. There was a moment of silence, apart from that cursed door.

As dread filled her, Benerice found herself wondering whether this was how, in the stories the kids in her street had used to tell each other, the skeptical kid that went to the haunted house felt when all the warnings turned out to be true. Then she realized what she was thinking, and quickly returned her thoughts to the now.

«Merlin, mate,» the longhaired knight finally said, shaking off his shock and suddenly appearing to have forgotten that Benerice was even there. «You have _got_ to hear this story Percival just told me.» Then he handed the sword he'd been carrying to the other knight with an unspoken request for him to put it back into place for him, and headed over to where Benerice and Merlin were standing, the latter still loosely pressed up against a wall. He easily pulled Merlin free – though Benerice still had a hand in his sweater, she wasn't putting any effort into keeping it there anymore – and started dragging him back towards the door.

«So, you know how before he met Lancelot, Percival used to travel around a lot? Well, turns out, he ended up with a fair amount of tales to show for it! Now, he swears this one's true, and though I'm not really sure I believe him, it's still one hilarious story! Besides, you've heard the stories I myself tell – despite the fact that they're all true, of course, and not at all affected by the fact that I may have been inebriated during a few of them, I still think some of mine beats this one. But whatever, that's not the point. Okay, so, here goes; like all good stories do, it all started in a tavern…» And with a flip of his hair from the knight that Benerice really couldn't tell whether was intentional or not, the pair of them disappeared out the door, Merlin still looking a bit dazed and the knight chattering like there was no tomorrow.

Benerice watched the remaining man as he closed the door, leaving her feeling strangely like an animal trapped in a cage. The door, squeaking and complaining the entire way, gave a final whine before properly closing, and while the noise had been annoying, Benerice first realized it was better than nothing when it was already gone. The room suddenly felt a bit colder, and as she nervously eyed the muscles on the knight in front of the door, she found herself wishing that he'd been the one leaving with Merlin – or better yet, that she'd been leaving too.

The man started walking towards her, taking his time, even placing the two swords in the process. He appeared almost casual, but Benerice remained frozen. She felt a foreboding feeling slowly build up in the room, and by the time he reached her, she was half convinced she wasn't going to leave this room alive. Then, for the first time since he'd entered, the man spoke.

«I am Sir Percival,» he said. He didn't say it in a threatening or even overly friendly way – it was more of a neutral, deliberate tone, like he was simply making sure she understood everything he told her. Like what he was saying wasn't threats – it was facts. «And it is my duty to inform you that if you ever, in any way, shape or form bother Merlin again, you will find yourself without a job.»

And that was it. He took another moment to stare her calmly in the eyes, maybe waiting for any potential comebacks, but when none came, he simply turned and left. Benerice remained glued to the same spot until she couldn't hear his retreating footsteps anymore. Then she proceeded to remain there for another ten seconds. It occurred to her, dimly, that she'd managed to place the look in Merlin's eyes; it was protectiveness, the same kind that had been shining through Percival's, only much, much stronger. She wondered briefly what she could have done to evoke such a reaction, before deciding that she really didn't want to know.

Finally, she came out of her shocked daze and looked around. The weapons Merlin hadn't been able to put away still lay on the floor, the sword he'd dropped a little closer to her than the rest. Figuring she should probably clean it up, she got moving.

A few months later, Benerice, Catheryn and their new friend Eirwen walked through the castle in an unorganized attempt to show Eirwen around. She had recently moved into their neighborhood, and the three of them had immediately clicked. When she had decided to get herself a job at the castle, it wasn't a question about whether the other two were going to help her ease into it or not. Therefore, as soon as they had the chance, the three set out to introduce Eirwen to everything she could quite possibly need to know. At the moment, they were discussing the matter of informing everyone that Eirwen, like Benerice and Catheryn, was not one to defy.

«So we'll start soon, then?» Eirwen said somewhat restlessly. She'd been complaining that she felt a bit overlooked among the servants, which Benerice thought was probably why she was pushing so strongly towards acting as quickly as possible. She didn't mind though. After all, there was no reason to wait.

«Right now, if you want to,» Catheryn shrugged. Eirwen opened her mouth to respond with what Benerice imagined to be something along the lines of _yes, she most definitely wanted to_, when they were interrupted by a high-pitched clanging sound ringing through the corridor from behind them. All three girls turned to see a boy about their age with black hair and his arms full of armor standing there. He seemed to be heading in another direction; he was standing in the middle of where their corridor and another one overlapped, forming a cross. The source of the noise was a piece of armor that had fallen from the not very well stacked mess he was still holding.

From the way the boy was hesitantly eyeing the fallen piece, Benerice could easily understand his dilemma; if he let go of the armor he was still holding in order to pick it up, he might not be able to collect some of the things he was still holding instead, which defeated the purpose. However, if he didn't take it with him now, he'd have to go back for it afterwards, which was twice as much work, not to mention that somebody might move it while he was gone.

All in all, a typical situation for Merlin to get himself into.

Benerice turned back to the other two, only to find Eirwen smirking as she watched the boy struggle to come to a decision.

«Right now, you say?» she asked, eyes twinkling with anticipation and mirth. Benerice was strongly reminded of a conversation she'd had with Catheryn months ago, back when she was the new one in the castle. She glanced over at Catheryn, and saw that she was obviously thinking along the same lines as her. In perfect synchronization, they both shook their heads.

«That's Merlin,» Benerice smiled, a hint of nostalgia passing over her. «He's got to be the most well protected person in all of Camelot, except maybe King Arthur. You don't want to mess with him.» Eirwen stared at her disbelievingly, and Benerice thought it was probably like looking at a mirror of herself from the past. Then she laughed, swept right past the thunderstruck girl, and came to Merlin's aid. Picking up the fallen armor for him, she sent him a kind smile, which Merlin happily returned. Sometimes she wondered how it was he never seemed to hold grudges. Had _he_ been the one to throw _her_ into a wall, she certainly would have.

As Merlin continued on his way, she thought about Sir Percival's words to her in the armory what felt like ages ago. He hadn't said anything that indicated that she had to help Merlin out on occasions like this, but she figured it couldn't hurt.

She may also have managed to develop a slight attraction towards him, but that was beside the point. It wasn't like Merlin, oblivious as he was, was ever going to notice.


End file.
